


Five Flights Home

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-05
Updated: 2007-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill's waiting out beyond the security gate, tall with amusement, broad-shouldered with indulgence.  Draco feels a smile cross his face before he's thought about putting it there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Flights Home

1.

Bill's waiting out beyond the security gate, tall with amusement, broad-shouldered with indulgence. Draco feels a smile cross his face before he's thought about putting it there.

"You're mental," Bill says by way of greeting.

Draco tilts his chin, raises an aristocratic eyebrow. "First class is the only way to travel."

"If you're a _Muggle_ ," Bill says, scratching the corner of his mouth, laughing. "Generations of Malfoys, turning in their graves. I ask you."

Draco leans up to kiss the same corner of Bill's mouth. "As if they weren't doing that already," he murmurs. "You seducer of incipient Death Eaters."

Bill's eyes flash warmly and he closes long fingers around Draco's wrist. "How 'bout I take you home?" he asks.

"How about that?" Draco whispers back.

2.

They land in a clearing, tumbling from their brooms, their descent too swift for a graceful end. Bill recovers first, whipping his cloak over his shoulder and summoning his broom to his hand, trembling with rage. "What the _fuck_ did you think you were doing?" he yells.

Draco picks himself up, dusting leaves and dirt from his robes. "No one is to embark upon a mission without cover," he says defiantly, glowering at Bill. "You're the one who broke the rules here, Weasley, Save your pathetic little tantrum."

"Imbecilní," Bill curses in Czech. "The point was to not endanger anyone you snot-nosed little know-it-all!"

"Except yourself," Draco drawls, gray eyes fierce. "Because the great Bill Weasley could _never_ get into a spot of trouble he couldn't spell his way out of."

"Fuck you," Bill spat, stalking toward him. "You're the one who gave away my location. You're the one who fucking broke my cover and ended up with a hex to the fucking arse! You're the one who _tripped over your fucking broom_ and lost us precious fucking moments when we were trying to get away. You're the reason they nearly caught us!"

"And I'm the reason," Draco says, shoulders straightening, "you didn't take a hex to the skull and a _Crucio_ to your dick, you ignorant, _arrogant_ little prick."

Bill's right inside Draco's personal space by now, and he jabs a finger into the other man's shoulder. "Don't ever do that again," he hisses.

"Or what?" Draco asks, unimpressed.

Bill mutters something obscene under his breath, drops his broom, and brings both hands up to frame Draco's face. His kiss is a firestorm – harsh, desperate, a ragged claim, and Draco kisses him back with every bit as much want, fingers winding through Bill's long hair. When the kiss breaks they're both breathing hard, panting softly in the chill night air. "Or that. I guess," Bill says, licking his lips.

"Not much incentive," Draco points out, and Bill growls, kissing him again.

3.

Bill quirks an eyebrow. "You've got to be kidding me."

Draco's unperturbed. "You've spent most of your life living in the Middle-East."

"Hardly most."

"Don't be pedantic, it's trying."

"And what the fuck does that have to do with anything anyway?"

"It's simply the preferred method of magical transport in those climes and I can't believe you haven't tried it before now."

Bill rubs the back of his neck. "I always had my broom."

Draco tilts his head. "You're scared, aren't you?" he asks.

"I am not," Bill says, snapping to attention. "I'll get on your blasted carpet."

Draco arches an eyebrow.

Bill clambers on board and sits sullenly.

"It's really quite fun," Draco says mock-sweetly, settling in front of him. "And I won't fly us too far above the ground if you're a nasty little pansy boy who . . . "

Bill growls as he wraps his arms around Draco's waist.

"Excellent," Draco smiles, and coaxes the carpet into the air, relishing the squeeze of Bill's hold as they rise.

4.

He thinks about not stopping, about flying on and seeing what life he can make for himself when he's finally too exhausted to continue. Brief thoughts of idyllic French cottages flash through his mind; a quaint Italian villa – but both are too close without protection, and his father has family the continent's length and breadth.

Draco circles the square, carefully glamoured, a modified _confundus_ further shielding his progress as he flies. There's a piece of paper tucked deep in his pocket, Snape's promise etched in rust-colored ink, and as he alights and catches his broom, he can see the godforsaken house, possession of his extended family, shimmer into being, brooding over the square. There are figures near the windows, candlelight softening the angles of the night, and he almost believes he can hear laughter.

With his eyes closed he can find a protective measure of pride, and so strides across the square to the place that's set to become home.

5.

Draco stares at the ceiling, the edges of his vision buzzing with colored light. "Fuck," he manages and his voice is cracked and hoarse.

Bill grins, the smug, self-satisfied bastard, and kisses the line of Draco's throat. "Good?"

Draco's whole body is humming, his thighs sore, his lips swollen, his fingers aching from how tightly he gripped Bill's arms. "Fair," he whispers, because there's no fucking way he's telling him it was like flying.

"Mmmmm," Bill says, nosing at his ear. "That'll do." And he kisses him silent, hands gentle as he coaxes him to sleep.


End file.
